Just One Old Soldier
by BananaNutCrunch
Summary: No, Liebling, I was no hero. I was only a soldier. All I could do was fight.


**This is something I wrote for a little competition thing in school. The topic was "fiction or non-fiction- write about an adventure you have experienced, or would like to experience".**

**Safe to say I went way off topic HAHA. And over the word limit, would you look at that. Oh well. At least I had fun. **

**This was my first ever attempt at melancholy. Do tell me what you think, eh? I shall be waiting :'D**

* * *

What are you doing out here? Your bedtime was half an hour ago. Oh, your mother let you stay up, did she? Adelheid is being far too lenient with you, young fellow. I know I raised her with more discipline than that.

No, I'm not angry. Only concerned. Sleep is important for you, you know. Why are you bothering me, anyway? I don't have any stories to tell you. No, I'm sorry. I didn't have a very interesting life. I was only a soldier. No, it wasn't fun. I didn't have any adventures.

Well, I suppose you're right. Things could get quite frightening. More than once my life was endangered. Which war did I fight in? Possibly the biggest war of all. Alright, alright, I'll tell you about it as long as your mother is really alright with you staying up this late. _Setzen Sie sich und hören._

I'm sorry. I forget that you cannot speak German. You should learn, you know. German is a good language. I meant to say, sit and listen. Grandpa Ludwig will tell you a story.

Where was I? Ah, yes. Have you ever heard of World War II? Good, you have. At least schools are teaching you proper history these days. I fought in that war. Yes, your grandpa really is that old. We were called Nazis back then, although the name is like a bad word now. Yes, _Liebling_, the medals on the wall belong to me. Well, some of them do. Many belonged to your great-uncle Gilbert. Yes, he does have the same name as you, my child. No, you have never met him. He passed away before you were born. Before your mother was born, even. He was only thirty-eight. I had no sons, so Adelheid named you Gilbert for my sake. She is kind to her old father. It is a good, strong name, _Liebling. _Take care of it.

Gilbert was a captain. I was a pilot. I used to fly a Messerchmitt. That's an old bomber plane. They don't look like airplanes now. I might have a picture somewhere. I'll show you if I ever find it.

I commanded a squadron. No, it isn't as grand as it sounds. Most of them were cowards, actually. One Italian soldier in particular, he clung to me like I was his mother. Scared of every little thing, he was. He'd scream and come running to me if he heard so much as a bird chirping. I always used to wonder what he was doing in the army, but I never did ask him.

No, _Liebling, _I can't ask him now. He passed away.

My squadron and I would fly over targets and drop bombs on them. The noise was always deafening, and the destruction was incredible. We were usually quite safe, though, because we were so high up. At least, we were safe until we had to fight other pilots.

Yes, our enemies back then were the English, the Americans, the Chinese… half the world, really. I had to fight many pilots in my time, but there was only one I remember clearly. Have I ever told you about the time I came closest to death?

He was very young. Back then, our helmets didn't cover our faces so we could see each other clearly if we came close enough. He was an American soldier in a Grumman Hellcat. He couldn't have been a day older than twenty. What did he look like? I didn't get close enough to check, but I remember that he had blonde hair and very blue eyes. Yes, a bit like mine. But his face was different. Boyish, confident. And I don't know why, but I got the impression that he truly was fighting for his country. There I was piloting a plane because I had been ordered to, but this mere boy took to the skies like it was what he was born to do. He smiled at me. He looked very cocky, like he knew he was going to blow me out of the sky.

We danced for a while, just circling each other in mid-air. I didn't want to make the first move for fear of leaving myself open somehow. In the end he grew impatient and started firing at me. I tried to go around him. I thought, if I could manage to get behind him, then I would be able to bring him down without taking any damage myself. So I gave chase, and I made almost a full circle before I finally got behind him. But then the most extraordinary thing happened.

Until now I'm not quite sure what he did, but it was perfect. One minute he was flying straight, the next he was doing a nosedive. I lost him for a moment, I had no idea where he had gone. And let me tell you, _Liebling, _for a pilot that is almost as good as being dead. Not even twenty seconds and he was behind me, firing like a demon.

I was surprised, and I fumbled. He got me in the gas tank. Even as I flew, my fuel was streaming out behind me. I was quickly losing altitude. I wanted to stop and pray for my life, but I couldn't. I had to keep fighting. Not for my country, but for myself. I'll tell you the truth, _Liebling, _as a soldier I wasn't the least bit concerned with what our leader wanted. The Fuhrer had so many ideas, but they did not interest me. I was no thinker. I was only a soldier, and I did what I was told.

Where was I? Oh, yes. The pilot. He kept shooting at me, and I couldn't fight back. I was going lower and lower, and I had gotten hit so many times that parts of my plane were beginning to come off. The entire sheet on my right side was threatening to fall.

I still don't know how it happened, but I think it must have been divine intervention. You see, my child, one of my propeller blades got shot and snapped in half, and went flying off. I was already out of control. I had a parachute, but I was afraid to deploy. I would have been a sitting duck for the American, one lone man in mid-air with no defense. So I sat and tried to figure out what to do.

And then a miracle happened. My broken propeller went flying, right? It hit the American pilot's wing. Just like that, there was a huge gaping hole. I thought maybe it was because he had followed me too closely and put himself in danger. He was being cocky. Things went wrong. The point is, he lost. He dropped out of the sky just like that, spiraling down into the ground and out of sight. I was free to use my parachute.

I'm sorry, _Liebling._ Maybe it doesn't sound interesting to you. But having been there myself, I have to say that there was something special about that boy. I still don't know what it is. He was an excellent pilot, and so very young. He seemed so full of passion. For the first time in my entire life, I felt a horrible sense of loss after taking down one of the enemy. I just know that he would have grown to be a great man. I wish I knew what his name was. He was an excellent pilot. The best I'd ever seen. I only got away from him by fluke. I wish he'd survived.

What happened? Well, he died, of course. His bomber crashed into the ground. I saw it with my own eyes, there was just a fiery heap of metal. There was no way he could have lived. He died that day.

No, _Liebling_. I couldn't have saved him. As much as I respected him, he was an enemy. Besides, I had no plane myself, remember? No, you don't understand. It was the middle of a war. There is no such thing as chivalry and heroics when there is war.

No, _Liebling._ You are mistaken. Soldiers are not heroes. Soldiers only fight.

That is war. War is not noble, nor is it full of glory and patriotism. War is not for young men who want to fight for their country. At least, not in the end. War is a fight for survival. When you are out on the field, you do not care what your country is fighting for. You do not care about the leaders sitting in their offices, planning their next moves. You do not even care about what will happen to you tomorrow. You must kill or be killed. _That_ is war. You take my word for it.

Yes, I am sorry for killing that young American. Truly, I am. But I do not regret it. If I had hesitated for even a second, I would not be here now. _You_ wouldn't be here. I do not regret it. I never will.

Yes, maybe I am cruel. But this is the way of the world. If I had been born in another lifetime, perhaps I would not have turned out this way. Who knows, maybe the American and I would have ended up as friends. But we didn't. We were fated to meet in a battlefield, and only one could have survived. It is the way the world works.

Have I made you sad, _Liebling_? I'm sorry. I told you I had no adventures to tell. I am only an old soldier. I was never a hero. Don't look at me like that, _Liebling_. Don't give me that face.

You were the one who wanted a story. I gave you one, didn't I?


End file.
